The Brightest Evening of the Year
by UchidaKarasu
Summary: Harry Potter's life is altered when he finds out Nate River is his cousin, and that some total arsehole is refusing him rights to see Nate. As he fights for custody against L, Harry finds that not all things are as simple as they appear. Eventual Harry/L.
1. Prologue: The Truth Behind the Talk

Yo.

This is for _Smile-Evily_. It's hers, yo. It's probably the complete opposite of what she expected, but hey, it won't leave me alone. This and like, a few hundred other plot bunnies that have plagued me since waking up from a sleep that lasted a few months.

Hmm. This probably won't be very long like _M&P_ was because I just simply don't have the time for it to be such, but then again, I have no idea. I guess it depends on the future. I hope it's not too shitty, because I have a feeling that it will never measure up to standards that I have placed myself under with _M&P_, but so be it. Fanfiction's for fun anyway. This is completely different than _Martyrdom and Paradox_. Harry's a bit different for obvious reasons, and quite frankly, I wanted to write something new.

So enjoy this unbeta'd thing, and the other one-shots that will pop up (in this fandom and otherwise), and don't review! (isn't _that_ a change from FFdotNet norm! XD)

Ja ne!  
>UK.<p>

* * *

><p>Prologue<em><br>The Truth Behind the Talk_

Harry James Potter, despite the heroic legends surrounding him, could be a vindictive bitch.

Harry James Potter, a twenty-one-year-old, war-hardened, kind-hearted wizard, had looked up _vindictive_ in a thesaurus once, just out of curiosity, because he had been called that while on post with his current job with the Ministry.

_Vindictive_: showing or motivated by a desire for vengeance; _syn_ revengeful, vengeful, wreakful; _rel_ grim, implacable, merciless, relentless, unrelenting, malicious, malign, malignant, spiteful; _con_ charitable, forgiving, merciful, relenting; _ant_ unvindictive.

This had shocked Harry, because seriously? His vengeance had been wrought, honestly, because Voldemort was dead and most of his lackeys were either in Azkaban or dead themselves. He didn't have anything else to be vengeful for. Well, except for Mathers taking the last of the coffee without using a spell to refill the pot, forcing him to make a new one, or when Davenport had gotten the assignment that Harry had wanted, because fame didn't matter down in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, United Kingdom Division.

He _was_ admittedly relentless for the most part and implacable to enemies or wrong-doers, but he wasn't malicious or spiteful, not really, and even if he was it was always for good reason. He _was_ charitable, forgiving, merciful, relenting, and unvindictive, and all of his friends and family could attest to that. He had died for them, protected them, and even though he had failed with some (Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, Snape, and more that he tried not to think about...), he was generally a kind-hearted person. He was hardened, but he was still the same carefree, loving, mischievous person with a knack for causing or inducing trouble that everyone had known for years upon years.

His friends and family had all confessed that he had his moments of being a prima donna and an all-around general douchebag when he worked himself up into a bitch fit, but they also confessed that such instances were rare, and rarely lasted longer than a few hours or days at the most (well, except when it came to Draco Malfoy, the arsehole...he was a special exception, but most of his friends joined him on this notion, so he didn't feel left out).

So, he ignored it when the comment was made through whispers and gossip, and didn't think about it again. They probably didn't even know what _vindictive_ meant, and were shooting shite that they didn't understand.

However, on the second of August, two days after his twenty-first birthday (and consequent drinking party spanning over _three continents_ that had ended up in every Magical newspaper from that ever existed, but _fuck_ was it worth it), he had gotten _the_ letter.

He had recognised the thick parchment and the wax seal on it immediately, and a bit puzzled on why Hogwarts was delivering him a letter, he had snatched it from the owl's leg and allowed the tawny bird to drink out of his goblet before flying out again.

"Why is Hogwarts sending you a letter?" Ginny had asked, gently pressing a petite finger to their newborn baby's nose and cooing, getting a vague look of interest from James Sirius Potter, three days old and starting to look a little less like a red-faced alien and more like a baby. Harry loved the child, of course, and thought he was the most magnificent human being on the face of the planet, but _damn_ was he a funky-looking baby. Hermione had assured him that all newborns looked freakishly extraterrestrial, in less wording perhaps, and as the baby was growing (like a weed, weirdly enough), he was evening out.

"Dunno," Harry had said, his mouth full of toast and getting a reproachful look from his wife when crumbs littered the table. "McGonagall and the other teachers already offered their _many_ congratulations, and since James is not old enough to attend Hogwarts himself, I'm guessing that she's trying to offer me the DADA position _again_." He swallowed, pulled out his wand, and charmed away all of the crumbs that were scattered.

"You should take it, Harry," she had said, cocking her head thoughtfully. "I know you like working at the Ministry but it'd be hilarious to see you teach your son and other kids to jinx you."

Harry had mock-gasped, his free hand flying to his heart, before he couldn't help breaking his façade of wounded pride and laughed. "Oh God, that would be terrible. Can you imagine it? I'd be a terrible teacher with a kid or _kids_ running around, especially if they were in Gryffindor. Those Slytherins would be in a lot of trouble with Harry Potter on the loose."

Ginny had said wistfully, "Oh, the House rivalries...how I miss them so."

Harry had snickered. "Are you kidding? You hexed Malfoy just the other day just because he insulted Gryffindor."

"Please, that git deserved it. And don't act like you weren't itching to join the fight. You wouldn't be _that_ bad with the favouritism though, would you? Honestly?"

Harry had given her a look. "It'd be such blatant favouritism that I'd probably get fired before the Slytherins had walked in the doors of the Great Hall. McGonagall knows that, because I've _told_ her that."

"She has utmost faith in you, just like the rest of the sheep in this world," Ginny had commented, rolling her eyes. "Personally I think they're all mad—everyone who knows you understands that you are the most irresponsible person on the face of the globe."

"Not fair!" Harry had objected valiantly (and dramatically). "I'm a fan_tastic_ Unspeakable, and I've always tried to obey the rules."

"_Trying_ to obey and obeying are two completely different things, my love," Ginny had said, giving him one of her patented looks that she used when Harry was being dense (or just being an honest-to-God idiot). "Besides, just last week, you were suspended for three days for jinxing Davenport when she had been assigned the task of experimenting with the Veil in the Death Chamber."

"But...but _Sirius_!" Harry had spluttered. "I'm—I could—"

Ginny had stopped playing with the baby, focussed all of her attention on Harry, and said thickly, "Sirius is dead, Harry. Finding out where that Veil goes isn't going to bring him back."

Harry had stared at his letter for a long time, the moment of light-heartedness gone, the front blank except his name, his wife's, and their address in Oxfordshire. The parchment was thick and coarse in-between his fingers, the green wax on the back end cool and slick as he caressed it, and he had said slowly and almost silently, "At least I'd have a body to bury, Ginny."

"I know," Ginny had whispered. They had sat in companionable but dreary silence for ages, before she finally continued, "Read your letter, Harry."

So he had. And had literally fallen off his barstool at what the letter had contained, his body all at once tense _and_ boneless.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_ This might come as a bit of a shock to you, so please sit down and steady yourself. It's pleasant news, but I have a feeling that with a newborn baby and a still-recovering wife, you shouldn't lose your temper. This letter contains rather sensitive material, and I pray that you keep as calm and clear-headed as I could hope for._

_ Now, to make an attempt to get this out as painlessly and effortlessly as possible, I have something of utmost importance to tell you. I know you are not very familiar to your father's side of the family except to the basics, but it recently has come to my attention that there was a loose end that we did not anticipate, we being Albus and myself. It has not been kept from you that your father had a sister by the name of Melanie Potter, who later remarried a Muggle named David River, and that both of them were killed by supporters of You-Know-Who in Nova Scotia, Canada in an attempt to find your family and yourself. This was made common knowledge to you right after the War, when you searched for genealogy records in an attempt to see if there was even distant family to engage yourself in._

_ When accepting new students to Hogwarts School, I look over the students to see how many will be attending. As you very well know, Hogwarts accepts students from the United Kingdom and children that have a lineage within our school and our country. What ever spaces are left over, we __give them to students that will transfer or live relatively close. I go over the lists of names, and I don't recognise some, for various reasons. Perhaps the parents were recluses, or maybe they are of one of the families that moved away to another country or continent and yet still have roots within Hogwarts so are therefore immediately accepted._

_ I research all of the names I am not familiar with, and one of these names stood out to me._

_ Like I said, there was something that was overlooked by Albus and myself, and has just recently come to my attention. I do hope that you are sitting down, Potter, for this is going to come as a shock._

_ This young child's name is Nate River, son of David and Melanie River of Nova Scotia, Canada, and by extension your cousin from your father's side. He is eligible to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this September. He is currently living in an orphanage in Winchester, England, although I am disturbed to admit that I have not been able to find out much of anything about this orphanage. I cannot even find the slightest hint of a paper trail that he is a resident there, or that he was even born in Nova Scotia, and I dare not say what things my old mind suspects. I am positive that this orphanage is not of magical influence, but the effort that they have made to hide Nate River's existence from not only you but from the Wizarding world as well is outrageously thorough. Whoever did it is skilled, and if this wasn't such a sensitive matter, I would be impressed. I have never been aware of the existence of this child, and as far as I know, nor was Albus, although I think it's safe to assume that even if he had we wouldn't have known about it—Albus was a good man, but he had a tendency to hide things from the people who most needed to know, as you very well know._

_ I have enclosed another piece of parchment with the address of this orphanage, Wammy's House, and another envelope containing Nate River's letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. Since Wammy's House is a Muggle institution, you should be wary of showing your skills to the child or even the letter itself, especially in front of the Muggles in residence there. Judging by the extent of this orphanage's insistence to obliterate Nate River's existence from the face of the globe, which would've been completely successful had he not been immediately entered into my books naming the children accepted to Hogwarts, you should be on your toes. They could be very invested in him, for reasons unknown, and I am not sure what you should expect._

_ Oh yes, and even though I doubt this'll be the case, you have every right to owl me back and tell me to deal with this myself. I can go to the orphanage and deal with the child instead of you, and can give him his letter while explaining what he is. If you do not want that responsibility, then you have every right to tell me so._

_ However, I'm fairly confident that you'll steam-roll your merry way down to Winchester and demand to see your blood cousin. If I'm wrong, I shall happily admit it and will never take myself seriously ever again, but I doubt I am._

_ I know this is a lot to take in, more-so for you than for me, so please do not act rashly. This requires delicate precision, and even though you are renowned for being an impulsive and reckless sort-of man, I pray that you will use your training that you have acquired within your time as an Unspeakable (minus jinxing anyone that stands in your way like Davenport, and that was very foolish, Potter, very much so indeed)._

_ I hope your newborn is doing well, and that your wife is recovering nicely. Give her my wishes and bring that child up to Hogwarts sometime so I can woe the loss of my youth (also, this might be bad timing, but the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching position has not been filled yet, and I'm receiving applications currently; deadline is 21 August 2001)._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Minerva McGonagall_

_ Headmistress of Hogwarts_

The next day, Harry had realised that the stories of him being a vindictive bitch were so true that it was almost pathetic, because Harry James Potter _was_ a vindictive bitch.

He had vindictive bitch in _spades_.


	2. One: Definitely Not an Orphanage

Yo.

Not beta'd. I think. Yeah, not beta'd. Hope you don't think this is utter rot...not to the awesome parts where people start screaming at each other. Or something. Yeah.

Uh, still dedicated to Smile-Evily. Dunno if she's even read this yet. Maybe. Also, thanks for the upload by Nica from Colorado, because I know she's doing this.

And from the Otherworld, I love you Princess. Just so you know. And I'm sorry. Forgive me and don't forget me. I love you l'amour.

Ja ne!  
>UK.<p>

* * *

><p>-<strong><br>The Brightest Evening of the Year**

—

_UchidaKarasu_

Chapter One  
><em>Definitely Not An Orphanage<em>

_3 August 2001_

Harry was grudgingly appreciative.

Wammy's House was brilliant, honestly, and there was nothing that could really diminish that initial thought, not even him being as pissed as he was. He stared up at the place, massive and absolutely gorgeous, and wondered absently to himself if the Dursley's would've dropped him off at _this_ orphanage if they had followed through with their threats of throwing him out.

_Yeah, right_, he thought with a snort.

There was a digital intercom system from the looks of it on the right hand side of the closed gate, so he rolled down the window of the Mini Cooper that he had borrowed from Hermione. He looked for a button, finding nothing except the words _The Wammy's House_ on the digital screen. He frowned, debating on just ramming the car into the gate and totalling it to get attention, but then there was a blinking purple light and the screen refreshed.

_Unrecognised visitor. Please wait for assistance._

"Oh fuck a monkey," he grumbled.

He stared at the doorway of the most prominent building, trying to burn a hole through the thick-looking wood, and he heard Draco Malfoy drawl from the passenger seat, "I wouldn't act too hostile, Potter, or you'll end up getting off to the wrong start."

"But I could just blow the gate down with a reducto or something, you know, or just ram the car into the gate. It'd get attention, and if I could just get in there, I could find Nate pretty quickly and get the fuck out of this place. I could _so_ Obliviate every motherfucker in this place if I have to."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "As your lawyer, both in our more superior world and in this ridiculous legal system, I advise you not to. You might be the famous scar-head who defeated the Dark Lord, but there are even aspects of your fame that won't pass through the Wizengamont and Obliviating an orphanage full of Muggles is one of them."

"But _why_?" Harry whined, even though he understood Malfoy's point.

Malfoy didn't have a chance to respond because a dark, unmarked vehicle came into Harry's sight from the left, advancing quickly towards the gate. Immediately, he tensed, and he figured he wasn't the only one—Malfoy tended to be a hell of a lot more paranoid than even him sometimes. Which was really saying something, since Harry was almost as paranoid as Voldemort had been. Between the press, the job of being an Unspeakable, sporadic attacks from rogue Death Eaters, having a newborn and a wife to worry about, and the simple fact that he had lived through a major role in the largest Wizarding war in the history of the world, he was _supposed_ to be a paranoid sonofabitch.

"You know," Harry pondered out-loud, frowning heavily, "if those people adopted him, which there's no record of but who the hell knows with these weirdos, what in the world are we going to do? You've explicitly said half a billion times already that we can't just go in there wands blazing, so you better have something super-awesome-sneaky up your sleeve."

"Amusing that you call _them_ weird," Malfoy droned, watching the vehicle speed towards them smoothly. "But in that case, I do have something of such absurd description up my sleeve, as you've so well put it. Your Muggle slang is truly abhorrent, Potter."

"Aww, go to hell, Malfoy."

"I'm in an automobile with you, in close proximity. I'm already _in_ hell. The first circle, in fact. Much longer, and it'll be an immediate transport to the fifth circle via the river Styx, complete with Medusa and a bunch of old harpies."

The vehicle, something pretentious and expensive by the looks of it, stopped at the gate and two big chaps slid out of the seats. They were wearing stereotypical bodyguard clothing in the Muggle world: dark sunglasses hiding their eyes, three-piece black suits with ties, pressed and sleek black trousers, and dress shoes that sparkled in the sunlight. They also had guns strapped to their belts, unbuttoned and ready to pull at a moment's notice.

"I think that this place is not an orphanage," Malfoy said, clicking his tongue in thought. Harry just stared, jaw dropped, because who _needed_ crap like this at a orphanage? Sure, it was nice and all, but still! It was an orphanage, for chrissakes! Malfoy narrowed his eyes at the two men and continued, "Let me do the talking. You might open your mouth and ruin everything."

The black guard pulled out a key from his inner coat pocket and unlocked a previously unseen side-gate that was solely for walk-throughs, which distracted Harry into not replying to Malfoy's _ridiculous_ accusation. The white one stood at the closed entrance to the gate, all tall and proud and completely failing at menacing. Harry could feel the comforting weight of his Disillusioned wand holster on his right arm, his wand ready to be brought out at the second's notice, so he wasn't too concerned. His wand could take the gun, and Harry himself could take the guards down without trouble. He was hardcore like that (and maybe a bit prideful, but he blamed that on Malfoy, his irritating but highly-skilled lawyer, like, yeah).

The dark-skinned guard walked up to Harry's opened car window. Since it had been rolled down already, Harry had no qualms about immediately saying quite loudly, "Hello, sir. I'd like to speak to the head of this establishment as soon as possible."

Malfoy shot him a look through the side-mirror that said he was not amused. Harry didn't really care, regardless.

"What is the nature of your visit?" asked the dark-skinned one, his accent hard to place. It definitely wasn't native British. _Maybe Scandinavian, or perhaps Polish?_ Harry thought vaguely._ Nah, it's too smooth. Denmark? Aw, this is fucking pointless. Concentrate, Potter._

"Good evening," Malfoy finally said, leaning in towards Harry's side of the vehicle and smiling good-naturedly. He had always had a way with charm, that was for sure. Definitely his I'm-Better-Than-Everyone-Else upbringing. Harry wasn't sure if he thankful for the fact that Malfoy was the best at being a fake git on the Island or irritated that he seemed to be better at this than Harry himself. Maybe it was the public thing. Harry did avoid the public, if his rather untoward career change from the highly publicised Auror Department to the secretive Unspeakable position had anything to show for it.

Malfoy, with that same easy smile, said in a voice that all-but gave away the seriousness of the visit, "My name is Draco Malfoy. I'm an attorney at law in London, and I've recently been contacted by my client here that you have a resident here of blood relation to him. We have the paperwork to prove this, so unless you would like to meet us in court in a very public setting, which I'm very sure you wouldn't like considering the secrecy surrounding this place, I'd suggest contacting the owner of this orphanage as soon as possible."

Harry fought the urge to whistle appreciatively. Malfoy was an pompous prick, but he sure was damn good at his job.

The guard seemed to sense this as well. "Credentials?" he asked, holding a hand out, and Malfoy obliged by giving him a card. Considering the nature of the place, despite McGonagall and then Malfoy and Hermione's researching, they would probably find everything about this man in the name of security.

God he hated people with money and secrets sometimes.

Well, all the time.

Nothing but trouble, they were.

As the guards returned to their vehicle and drove back to the establishment, Harry resigned himself for a bit of waiting. It would've been better if Malfoy hadn't been there, but he was stuck with him.

Harry groaned, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Fifth circle, you overenthusiastic moron."

Maybe Malfoy was right. This _was_ the fifth circle of hell.

* * *

><p>In a room with no windows, a man sat in perfect stillness.<p>

Surrounding him were piles upon piles of papers, some in files and some fluttered around without sense. The one in front of him was complete with glossy, high-definition photos of three bodies. One, the mother, was lying naked on the floor, her body perfectly kept. She had been raped and then strangled, the ligature marks (fishing line if judging by circumference) on her neck and wrists surrounded by bruising, but her body had been redressed in an evening gown. She was wearing dinner-party jewellery, a small purse on her elbow, nice shoes, pantihose, and her hair and make-up was done impeccably. She had been left on a freshly-made bed, arms crossed as if with remorse and her eyes closed as if sleeping.

Her husband, on the other hand, had been chopped to pieces. Literally. With an axe.

Her son was found in a bathtub, but he hadn't been drowned. He had been chopped to pieces as well, as his face had been beaten in with a golf club. Dental records were confirmation of his identity, as that was the only way.

He had watched the blue Mini Cooper pull up to the gates, expecting another tourist looking for the châteaus that were opened for mock tea parties to placate the Americans, or perhaps the home of Jane Austen to placate the Germans, or the people who thought that Charles Dickens had left a treasure map somewhere in Hampshire to find a secret collection of books and short stories not published.

That last one belonged to the Americans too. It was the head country of conspiracy theorists.

Perhaps that would be the new topic of Dan Brown's new book. After all, he was the king of said conspiracy theorists, and he barely ever wrote fact within his novels. It was a potential playground for that man, that was for sure.

Picking at his bottom lip, he turned back to the file. It was the fifteenth family—bringing the total victims up to fifty-seven— to be found dead within the Ukraine, but he had finally solved it. He had placed the call to the President a few hours ago and was just waiting for confirmation on the arrests of the three men responsible. They would be sentenced to life in prison, since the death penalty had been abolished, but he was more worried about the criminals declaring insanity. It was such a uniform defence.

He felt a wetness against his fingers, and he dropped his hand to look at the tips, finding them smeared with red. He licked his raw, stinging lips, fighting the urge to cringe at the metallic tang, and took a large swallow from his overly sweet tea to compensate.

As he rubbed hand sanitiser on his fingertips, wiping away the blood on a clean dishcloth, he watched as the security walked away from the British vehicle and drove back toward the House. The car, itself, did not move, the occupants shrouded behind the shadow of the vehicle, so in curiosity, he manoeuvred his way through his security cameras and localised the one on the entrance monitor.

Then he frowned heavily.

A hand was covering the optical lens, the sight a fiery red from the light shining through. All he could see was the lines upon his fingers and palm, giving him nothing in the viewing. However, he could _hear_ them, most definitely, and he frowned.

"_You know,_" said a male in an airy, melodic British timbre, "_they might bring out a bazooka or something, and we'll have to have an epic fight for our lives_."

Another voice, also male, answered back with a self-important drawl, "_Oh do be quiet, you imbecile. I'm a lawyer, and you're the scar-head. I dare them to try such a thing. Also, for some place like this, Potter, covering the lens of the camera doesn't cut out the audio. And here I thought you were someone who was vigilant about security._"

"_No way. Wait, damn. You're right. There it is right th_—" Then the sound went out to a mere muffle, not enough to get a clear phrase out of the two men. Hopefully there weren't more people in the vehicle, but then there was a _ding_ on his computer and he opened up the message from Roger Ruvie, who clearly indicated that the two men were alone.

He read:

_There are two men, a lawyer named Draco Malfoy and an unnamed client, who are currently at the House entrance, awaiting instructions. They told the guards that they had paperwork confirming that the client is a blood relative of one of our orphans, and that they will take the case to public trial if they aren't seen by the head of the House. I'm sure you have been alerted to a presence of outside interference through your computer, so I shall await your instructions on how to best deal with this manner. -Roger_

The man frowned, biting his already sore lips in thought. It was highly unusual that someone had acquired paperwork affirming the existence of a bloodline, because he made sure the orphans all-but disappeared. It was even more unusual that he had _missed_ said bloodline in the first place. Before accepting children to the House (_especially_ the main Letters, the ones that were in the Race of Succession to the L title), an extensive background search was authorised, to make sure things like the current situation didn't happen in the future. The children didn't have any close relatives left in the world to take them in—it didn't work to have living family members, because people were human, and after a while there was a chance of family trying to reinstate contact. Orphans almost always yearned for family, so it was guaranteed that they would want to return back to their home lives, especially if they had been old enough to remember the relatives.

He needed a name.

The man pulled up a few search engines that he had designed himself while pressing a button on the intercom. As he began searching for anything to do with one Draco Malfoy, he heard the kind voice of his handler over the speaker. "_Yes, L?_" said Quillish Wammy, his voice as kind and yet blank as possible. The man identified simply as L looked up at his security monitors with dark eyes and watched him as he prepared for his outing, coded _Watari_. He was carefully placing the long, rather suspicious trench coat into a suitcase, but he kept his bespectacled eyes on the intercom of his personal computer.

"We have a problem," said L, picking at the skin around his nails absently. "It seems that the House has a security breach." He didn't admit that there was a twenty-eight per-cent chance that the breach had been because of an overlook on one of the orphans' backgrounds, but he didn't need to. Wammy simply stilled, his posture remarkably elegant like usual as the result of a wealthy upbringing, and frowned.

"_Do we have a name of the orphan in question?_" he asked, not even seeming to breathe.

"No, I do not, but I have the name of the attorney that is present. I'm searching now."

There was a small pause as Wammy looked into the floor-length mirror to adjust his appearance. When he deemed it satisfactory for his outing into London, where he might be recognised as the famous inventor, he continued, "_I shall have a vehicle ready for after the meeting with Scotland Yard. I have a feeling that we need to go deal with this problem as soon as possible._"

"Yes, indeed," answered L, bringing up his right index finger to chew on the pad.

He watched Wammy leave, suitcase in hand, through the monitors. He had tapped into the security of the London hotel he was staying at, so L followed his movements throughout the building until Wammy finally climbed into his dark vehicle. He would change into the _Watari_ getup as soon as he had switched vehicles outside of London. After all, he just had to throw on the trench coat over his ordinary clothes, the wide-brimmed hat on his head to cover his hair, and meticulously place the mask that was attached to a thin shirt under his clothing over his moderately known features.

When he drove off, L finally returned to picking at his lips and reading over the profile of Draco Malfoy.

He was definitely an attorney in London, where L was currently was stationed. He was a well-respected criminal lawyer, and had been successful with winning all but one of his cases. He had never involved himself in common law, particularly with family law, but L had no doubt that, being a bloodthirsty lawyer, he could find something in both worlds that would make him a threat.

His mind helpfully supplied: _perverting the course of justice, which would be ironic, but essentially correct, because if we missed a relative, it could be considered a violation of human rights that we didn't notify. They could even go as far as kidnapping, which is absurd but lawyers will be lawyers._

_Some_ of the children were adopted, but that only went for the Race of the Letters. If they were just at the House for intense learning for outside fields, they were cared for immensely but not adopted by Wammy himself. However, the potential heirs had all been adopted—Near (Nate River), Mello (Mihael Keehl), Matt (Mail Jeevas), Linda (Laura Arquette), Xenith (Xavier Jones), Zeke (Zachary Budhari), and Yasmin (Yvette Jakobs)—to make sure that there was a legal paper-trail to justify their stay at the House.

However, some of the children would want visitation with family, adopted or not, and that was complicated. Not only did they slack on their studies due to being gone or distracted, they became loyal to human beings instead of intelligence and fact, which wouldn't hinder the children unless they were in the Race of the Letters.

The heirs needed to be kept focussed.

Not only that, but if the lawyer had concrete _anything_, and didn't get what his client wanted (probably full rights to one of the orphans), they _would_ threaten court.

That was...unfortunate.

But that was only for the Race. The other children were going to be architects, business leaders, artists, professors, doctors, scientists, mathematicians...if L had missed something, then it was not particularly a big deal. Children, especially genius children, had goals that they wouldn't stray from, and if something happened to them outside in the real world after regaining contact with relatives, it would be a tragic but not a travesty. If the outsiders, the lawyer and his client, were looking for one of _these_ children, he could see the benefit of letting them have partial visitation but nothing more. Well, unless the child would go to a better home, and then he might make an exception. Studies could still be conceivably learnt at the House, so the child could commute.

Absently, as he looked at his blood-stained fingers, he debated on what he would do if it was one of the main Letters. L wondered what it would take to get them to sign over rights. Money was a powerful motivator for dropping a case...but so was a public court case against the House. It was something they absolutely could _not_ afford. The purpose of Wammy's House was for it to be a safe, but completely isolated orphanage industrialised solely for mass producing heirs. _That sounds totalitarian. I should rephrase_. The purpose of Wammy's House was for it to be a safe, but completely isolated orphanage set to advance already brilliant minds with a healthy goal of becoming the next beacon of justice.

The addition of other genius children for special areas of expertise had been an afterthought to give the Letters more social experience with people that could actually socialise.

L blinked.

_Not that it really helped, if you take Near and Zachary in account, but no one wanted another Beyond Birthday (because who needs another potential heir with no social contact except me, which spurned an unhealthy obsession that bred a murderer?)_.

He tore himself away from that line of thought when he finally brought up a photograph of Draco Malfoy. He was an attractive blond with steely grey eyes, rather elegant features, and body language that screamed of self-entitled superiority. Almost immediately, just by working through his security features on his website, he knew that he would be a force to be reckoned with.

Once he had more information about which child the two men were seeking to acquire, he'd deal with the extreme of the development. If it was one of the genius orphans that wasn't in the Race, that was a total different story. L could see no harm in allowing visitation rights—besides, what sort-of relative would deny said genius child an education with the House, where the primary focus was individual talents by superior staff?

As for the Letters...that was a problem. They had to be kept secret from the world, because the Letters, _all of them_, ended up working detective codes in the future. It was just the top heir that would take over the top seventeen of them, including the L code. It was important to keep all the Letters invisible in the world, to keep up with the nameless, faceless idealisation of the L name, regardless of whether or not they received the honour or not.

L would fight with every legal (and illegal) trick up his sleeve if it was one of the Letters.

_And he would win_.

* * *

><p>They were escorted past the gates by two unmarked SUVs.<p>

The unwillingly famous Harry James Potter looked at his pompous lawyer, steeled himself for some hardcore arguing on both sides, and said softly, "Definitely not an orphanage."

Malfoy snorted. "No shite Sherlock."

Harry threw a cold French fry at Malfoy's smirking face.


	3. Two: The Old Man With A Beetle Fetish

Yo.

First off, FUCK YES LOOK WHAT I HAVE HERE! *laughs* Yes, this is an unbeta'd update for you my minions! It's a tad bit short, but it's better than nothing, and I actually _really_ like this one after all my internal angst on having writer's block.

Second, FUCK YOU KIRK CAMERON!

**Thirdly, I got married. I have two step-children (**that are admittedly closer to my age than I am to my husband, but fuck you haters**). _And_ I'm cancer-free. _Get_ some, bitches.**

I'm a very happy person. Add me as a friend/come talk to me on LiveJournal and I'll be even happier: amarx17 (at) livejournal (dot) com. Because I'm an LJ whore, and I have no qualms about shameless self-promotion. I'd go into the fact that I have a tumblr, a twitter, and ANOTHER FFdotNet account (haha, I've been active and you didn't even KNOW it! XD), but that's on my profile for a reason.

Anyway, enjoy the update!

Ja ne!  
>UK.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<em><br>The Old Man With A Beetle Fetish_

_3 August 2000_

A few months before marrying Ginny, at a wedding party, Harry had come clean rather quickly.

Rather bluntly as well. He had been relatively drunk, but that wasn't really a good excuse in the long run. He couldn't have married her if he kept his mouth shut.

"I like sucking cock," Harry had slurred helpfully.

Ginny had rolled her eyes. "Me too, Harry, me too."

And that had been the end of _that_ conversation.

* * *

><p><em>16 June 2002<em>

After chucking his fast food bag in the back-seat, Harry exited the Mini Cooper ungracefully.

This was in contrast to Malfoy, who elegantly folded his way out of the passenger side, strutted to the tip of the bonnet, and waited for Harry to join him. Harry, naturally, was trying to untangle his long limbs from the driver's side, annoyed that he had asked for Hermione's (admittedly by Harry) fabulous car instead of Ron's minivan (which happened to be the brunt of a lot of Weasley jokes). At least he would've been able to get around in the van, instead of the stylish box that Hermione easily fit into. Harry was too tall for the damn thing though, being as tall as he was. Six-foot-tall wizards with egos to match (although he would deny it, obviously) didn't belong in compacts.

They followed the armed guards into the massive wooden doors, and were rushed by a rather magnificent foyer into the main building. Harry absorbed the sights—sitting areas with plush armchairs; magnificent dining areas with stainless dinnerware already placed; libraries that rivalled Hogwarts; a room with a seamstress stitching something rather beautiful through the open doorway; classrooms with small amounts of young children doing complex science experiments; a teen-aged girl doing complicated-looking mathematics on a dry-erase board all by herself; a room where ten teens were doing martial arts lessons with a black belt instructor—and tried not to get too enthralled about the academics and luxury these children were surrounded with.

Malfoy, of course, seemed completely unaffected, probably because his house looked like this place itself, minus the classrooms.

The pompous, spoilt prat.

They made their way up to the third floor, the top naturally, and were led into an office covered in artwork of various insects and animals. There seemed to be more beetles than anything, which didn't exactly make Harry very comfortable. Beetles were disgusting things, probably because he had had a bad experience with a beetle when he had been ten.

But that was beside the point.

They were led to the two seats placed in front of a massive wooden desk. Said desk was remarkably organised, but the man sitting behind said desk looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. His hair was a rumpled mess, his brown tweed suit in even worse condition, and his round glasses were lopsided on his peckish face.

"Hello," the man said in a dull British lilt. "I'm Roger Ruvie, and I am currently in charge of this establishment while the owner is away." He finished plugging a butterfly's wings to a pin-board and then looked up, blinking slowly. Harry chanced a look at Malfoy, who looked haughty and dignified all proper in his chair, and then Harry rolled his eyes.

"Hello mate," Harry said loudly, leaning forward all sloppy-like. He could feel Malfoy's icy eyes boring into his skull, a silent demand to _shut the fuck up_, and he ignored it promptly like any good nemesis with no self-preservation would. "So we're here to talk about my cousin being kidnapped by you crazy people, who not only made his records all-but disappear of the face of the planet but also just escorted us in by armed lackeys that could be purchased in Germany. Or America, but let's be honest."

Ruvie's eyes narrowed.

Malfoy interjected in an even, collected tone, "What my client is trying to say is that we have recently become aware of a particular orphan within your midst that is biologically related to him. Unfortunately, his existence has been a complete and total mystery considering this institution's rather unfortunate attempt to erase his identity."

Harry shot Malfoy another look, and then got distracted by Malfoy's hand making a cut-throat gesture under the desk where Ruvie couldn't see it. Harry pushed down his anger and sat back languidly, catching the hint but not happy about it. He was about two seconds away from accidental magic and a mad dash yelling "_Nate Riiiiiiver! Come to Cousin Harry!_" at the top of his lungs. Which was probably a bad idea, but Harry wasn't exactly known for his brilliant, thought-out plans. That was Hermione's job, and she was doing political-law stuff at the Ministry, leaving Harry hanging with his buffoon of an arch-nemesis.

Never mind that he was ridiculously successful. Harry still saw the boy who cried like a baby and resorted to petty muscle to get his way (naturally, Harry conveniently overlooked the fact that he had resorted to meddling and outright childish fights himself, but who was paying attention?). _Honestly._

"Out of curiosity, how did you come about this information?" asked Ruvie, his voice a bit more sharp. "Are you even entirely sure that your sources are accurate, or that this particular child resides here, a prestigious orphanage with the best schooling programme that money can buy?"

Harry rolled his eyes as Malfoy said in a chilly voice, "With all do respect, I would not come here to take up your time with false statements and ridiculous claims. I've got his birth certificate and Quillish Wammy's name on record as the man who paid for his transport to the United Kingdom and authorised his citizenship in Britain. He's here, Mr Ruvie, and unless you can give me transfer papers or a death certificate on one Nate River, I _will_ take you to court for custody."

Harry frowned as every drop of colour bled from the old man's rosy cheeks.

Ruvie recovered after a moment, still very pale, but his voice was like cold steel. "Nate River, you say? And you have evidence proving that this man here is related to him? Very well—please present this evidence and I shall present my evidence proving that you will never lay a hand on him."

Harry shot another look towards Malfoy, who didn't look threatened at all. In fact, he seemed amused. With a graceful, flourished movement, Malfoy pulled out his briefcase (which had been checked by security) and opened the clasps. He pulled a manilla file, straightening it unnecessarily with a _tap_ on the end of Ruvie's desk, and then handed it over.

Ruvie studied the documents for a long moment, his face carefully blank. His voice still sharp, he said, "Paperwork that states James Potter is your father, and that James Potter's sister was Melanie Potter. Also paperwork that states Nate River being the offspring of Melanie River née Potter and David River." Ruvie then looked up. "Paperwork that has Mr Wammy's signature on it, proving that he is in this country and living in this establishment. Hmm, this is supposed to be a sealed file."

Malfoy smiled his _let's-pretend-I'm-innocent-and-genial-while-we-both-know-I'm-a-manipulative-sonofabitch_ smile. "Your establishment and perhaps even you know how it is. If you have the right connections and the drive to get something done, there's no limit to what one can accomplish. You nearly exterminating Nate River's identity to the point where my client would never know him is a perfect example."

Ruvie gave him a look, and Harry fought the urge to frown. With as much money as these people were throwing around, Harry wasn't sure if it was wise for Malfoy to pretty much admit that he had bribed and perhaps illegally searched for information. There was no telling if the man had audio recorders hidden about, so anyone could've been listening in.

Ruvie then stood up and made his way to a elegantly crafted wooden file cabinet, unlocking it with a key in his suit pocket. For a while, the only sound in the room was the shuffling of paper and the _whoosh_ of drawers smoothly sliding to position, and then Ruvie hummed under his breath.

He walked back, his own folder in his old hands, and Harry's eyes could see his cousin's name on the tab. He unconsciously sat up straighter, because he knew that he was about to see adoption papers, the one thing that he definitely did _not_ want to see.

He wasn't proven wrong. They were in a file, and it seemed legal to Harry as he peeked over Malfoy's shoulder with a frown. _Nate River, adopted on 17 April 1994_? God, and it even had rather official seals of approval along the edges. "You can keep those, if you'd like," Ruvie said, not giving any indication of his mood through his voice. "They're copies."

Malfoy's icy grey eyes glanced up, and then a small smile curved his lips. "Lovely," he said, his voice genial and even. "Sounds like I have a case." He stood up and pushed out a hand, which Ruvie accepted. They shook each other's hands, before Harry copied the gesture. He put quite a bit of effort into not breaking the man's fingers or baring his teeth, so when they finally left the office and made their way downstairs, he felt rather proud of himself.

He almost missed the flash of yellow and black out of his peripheral vision. When he turned to follow the movement, it was already gone.

* * *

><p>When the two men left his office, Roger Ruvie picked up his phone with shaking fingers.<p>

When Wammy picked up the phone, he said, "The second man is Harry Potter. And before you ask: yes, I mean _the_ Harry Potter. Tell your favourite little brat that he's overlooked something big this time, and both of you get down here as soon as you can."

Quillish let out a long sigh and said in French, "This is unfortunate. We'll be there later this evening. Prepare the children and don't talk to them, although I'd be willing to imagine that they already know."

"Understood," answered Roger, and terminated the call.

He had to prepare, because it was going to get rather nasty soon, he was sure.

* * *

><p>"He's gone," Mello said unnecessarily, head poking out of the doorway.<p>

In his low, quiet voice, Near said, "I figured that would be an easy deduction to make, considering Matt has the cameras watching them."

Mello let out a piercing shriek, face going red with anger as he whipped his head around. "Why don't we let that weird British prick _take_ your fucking arse to that stupid school, hmm? God knows you'll be in a lot worse shape there than you are here. Your fucking genius will leak out your stupid ears from all the mundane _bullshit_."

"C'mon guys, let's not fight again!" Then, in a clear and pure singing voice, Linda sang, "Why can't we all be friends, why can't we be friends?"

Matt rolled his eyes from behind his goggles and said, "Stop bickering. Stop singing. Everyone just shut up. We have to come to an agreement on this."

Mind, everyone spoke in different languages, most often their native ones. It helped everyone with languages that weren't their own, and it also helped with hearing, understanding, and absorbing multiple languages at once without being overwhelmed. It was a small trick the multilingual teachers pounded in the orphan's heads.

Mello was from Germany, so not only was he constantly swearing and insulting people in German, he also _sounded_ more pissed off than the words themselves even indicated. Nate, being natively multilingual in French and English, decided to speak in English because Yolly claimed French.

Their main tutors, X, Y, and Z were no different. Yolly was a native Frenchwoman and used it in her thick accent, Linda was Dutch and spoke it fast and furious, Zingo was from Egypt and spoke lazy Arabic, and Xeno was a posh and dapper Englishman who spoke his first language, Afrikaans.

Matt himself was from Jersey and proud to say it, so he spoke his own form of English, full of dope slang and blahblahblah, but he didn't speak in English around the Letters. He spoke _Klingon_. It was a widely recognised language after all, even if it wasn't the..._most_ practical language. It worked though, and in a house full of geniuses, they tended to embellish and flesh out. It was _fun_.

It proved to be a bizarre mix all together though, but being in the race for the letters, all of them had to be on top of such things. Even in Klingon.

It was a bit surprising that none of them had opted out to speak Russian, considering that it was a fad between _all_ members of the House, tutors or not, to make up shit. Oh, L likes tennis? Everyone, pick up a racket, even if he probably doesn't. Oh, L only eats candy? Everyone, grab a Mars Bar and get chomping, even though the detective must've had a metabolism like a beast to stay as skinny as he did. Only children would come up with something stupid like that, and only starry-eyed morons would listen to it.

It was probably true, though. L was one _weird_ motherfucker.

"Agreement of _what,_ exactly?" Mello grumbled. "I say we give the little annoying bastard to his famous cousin and be done with him."

"Yeah, because winning by cheating _so_ makes you better than Near, doofus," said Linda.

"Be quiet, everyone," said Xeno, his voice not loud but carrying. He didn't need to speak loudly to be heard and understood, because he was X and he was first-generation. First-generation demanded respect. Even Mello bit his tongue, albeit unwillingly as he was visibly bristling from Linda's comment.

"He's right," agreed Zingo. "We need to come up with some agreement here. Obviously, this is Harry Potter. We _all_ know Harry Potter, because who doesn't? He's like L, only a wizard. You know, can mobilise every government on the globe, has pretty much unlimited power, enjoys an ungodly amount of wealth, has saved the planet on multiple occasions by bringing evil men to justice..."

"That is _ridiculous_ to say," said Yolly, a smirk on her lips. "Harry Potter is a very happily married man who is known for his happy-go-lucky-but-determined personality. Just had a kid too, I heard, and I'm sure he loves the ickle young lad so very, _very_ much. As for L, he's artificial intelligence and is capable of no emotion, I'm sure of it."

"Wow, no, just...no," said Zingo.

_Why_ the first-generation orphans were so idiotic and yet so smart, Matt didn't know. They _were_ smart though, ungodly so. They weren't children any more, in fact in their early-to-mid-twenties, but once in the Race ever really left. They weren't eligible for the Race any more, but they had started out in the generation of A and B, and they had ended up coming back to the House anyway. No one really left, in the end, not even the ones just at the orphanage for study.

X, Y, and Z were almost as famous as B. They had been involved in the Detective Wars, something that the orphans all whispered about in awe, and they all carried their own detective codes. There was a reason people worshipped them despite their relatively young age: they had been the right-hand group of L and had helped him succeed.

B was a different story. He had gone missing in May, a month ago as it was the 16th of June, 2002. No one knew where he was, except presumably L. Everyone figured he'd show up eventually, probably by murdering someone. He had been threatening it for years. Literally.

Matt forced himself to pay attention when the soft-spoken Xeno said, "Regardless of personal vendettas or petty rivalries, the patrons and orphans at Wammy's House are one. We are all aware of what would happen if L's position was discovered by the world, because it would end in assassination most likely, and we all know that making sure we are all private and safe is the number one priority. It does not matter who is leading the Race to succeed L right now, because someone is trying to upset our way of life."

The library was quiet, so after a beat of silence Xeno went on, "As everyone knows, Harry Potter is a good man. The idea that one of our own is related to him by blood is a brilliant thing to behold. I know this — I'm a wizard just like you, Nate, and I know the noble things Harry Potter has done. Ultimately, it is not anyone's place to say what you choose to do with this knowledge, except for L."

"L'll never give him up," said Mello, his voice remarkably even. Mello wasn't stupid, and he knew that this was a big deal. Everyone had known this would happen, ever since Near had been seen levitating Lego blocks in the dining hall, but they hadn't known _this_. Mello didn't like Near and never really would, but Xeno was right: their stability was being threatened, and their dysfunctional genius-family was being threatened. Everyone would fight tooth and nail to protect their own.

It was a bit depressing that Near wouldn't really have a choice in the matter.

"He's right," said Yolly. "Near is adopted. They can take it to court all they like, but L will win in a Muggle court system if it comes to that. As long as Potter doesn't find out that L is knowledgeable about the Wizarding world, L will use that to his advantage. After all, there's no way in hell L can win a custody battle on Potter's home turf."

"To be fair, L is fully aware of how to manipulate the Wizengamont, Yolls," said Zingo, "but you're right. It'll be a lot easier on L's playing field, that's for sure. Draco Malfoy or not, L has way too many connections."

"Do you even believe it'll get into a courtroom?" asked Yolly. "Potter is renowned for being ruthless and loyal to his own as well, but I don't believe it'll get that far."

"Oh, I think so," said Xeno, matter-of-fact. "Honestly, I'll be surprised if Malfoy doesn't find out that L's quite influential on the Wizarding world. If a man that professional and thorough doesn't figure out that Wammy and L have standing arrangements through the Ministry about this orphanage teaching Muggles, I will sincerely doubt his skills. I think it'll hit the Wizengamont unless we can come up with something suitable."

"There's no way in hell that L will ever compromise," said Mello. "Look, I like Near about as much as I like bees, which you all know I'm deathly allergic to, but it's true that he's not going anywhere. Near's in the Race, just like Matt, Linda, and me, and Harry Potter will have to pry Near out of L's cold, dead fingertips for custody. Wammy has custody, Wammy's legal. As far as the supposedly magic-oblivious detective L is concerned, there were no links to tie Near to Potter."

"Everyone knows that Harry Potter doesn't exist in the Muggle world any more," agreed Zingo. "He'll be hard pressed to present paperwork agreeing with any argument, since there's nothing but Wizarding citizenship."

"This is not true," said Xeno. "The beauty of wizards like me is that we can do pretty much anything. Besides, this is Harry Potter. He has the funds and the political power to bribe or coerce people into accepting newly received paperwork that makes him an outstanding British citizen. He'll have everything he needs to win this case, provided that he can get passed the fact that Near's adopted."

"Might I interrupt your conversation about my life?" asked Near quietly, and all eyes looked at him. Matt noted that his expression, which was usually so blank and expressionless, seemed pinched and almost sick-like. When he had gotten everyone's attention, he said, "I agree with Mello." Said blond haired teen nearly choked on his lollipop at Near's words. "L will never compromise, and if it takes going to court, then it shall go to court. Even wizards abide by Muggle law when there is no Wizarding equivalent or there is justifiable reason to. Yes, this is Harry Potter, who is very powerful and wealthy and has the Wizarding world at his feet by being a war hero, but this does not matter. This is L, and L is no match for any single person except himself."

Everyone continued to stare, including Matt with wide green eyes. He had never heard Near speak so much in his entire life, and agreeing with _Mello_? It was clearly the end of the world.

Near swallowed visibly and then continued, "X, you went to Hogwarts for one year, the seventh, and that was only for N.E.W.T.s. The rest of your years were spent with a Ministry-appointed tutor who taught you everything you needed to know and more. I am sure a similar arrangement can be made for me, to study magic with a Ministry-appointed tutor or even you yourself. This is something I have been aware of for years now, and my viewpoints on my magical study is no different than anyone else's."

"This is true," said Xeno. "Even L told me via computer that this was the general plan. It has worked for the past five wizards, including you and me, that have been at this orphanage. In fact, there has been one witch or wizard in every one of the four generations at the House, and I don't see why you have to be any different."

Near nodded slightly, his faux-black eyes staring unseeingly at a stark white action figure in his hand. He was only almost-eleven and still playing with dolls — it was Mello's favourite teasing device, not that it did a lick of good. "As for the situation of Mr Potter, nothing shall come of it. Perhaps we are blood related, but I don't know him except through books. Just because I could be or am related to someone by blood does not mean anything in the long run. He is from a different life, and being L's successor is my goal."

"Fuck you too, bitch," mumbled Mello, digging a hand into a pocket to get some chocolate M&Ms.

"It does not matter what he wants, for I believe that between the seven of us, Mr Ruvie, Mr Wammy, and of course L himself, we are unstoppable. I will not leave the House, and I know that we will be successful keeping me here. L is capable of far too much, in both the Muggle world and the Wizarding world, to go down lightly. Mello is right: I belong here, in the Race, and L knows that. We all know what the purpose of the House is, and he won't let a potential heir out of his grasp."

Matt sighed. "Well, L is childish and hates to lose. L has saved the world from countless wars and has brought thousands of people to justice, but this is probably the biggest challenge he's ever partaken in regardless. This is going to be _so_ much fun."

Mello snickered. "Can't believe I'm sayin' this, but I call temporary truce. Let's have a break from studying all the time and fuck around with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Famous-One-Hit-Badarse. Deal, you guys?"

In a chorus of snorts and laughter, the group all cheered, "Deal!"

The silent, appraising Near caught Matt's goggle-covered eye and Matt nodded.

The Race wasn't important at the moment. The only thing that mattered was keeping Near with the dysfunctional family and where he belonged.

It really was going to be so much fun. Like a video game, only real.

_Bring it on_, he thought with an internal smirk.


	4. Three: Idiots With Tunnel Vision

Yo.

Hey look what I did! After a year of writer's block and other various...things that triumphed this story, I've finally gotten some of my shit together and wrote a chapter for this thing (even though it's a bit smaller than my usual chapter length in, well, everything I write).

And then I read Death Note porn, and all was good. Well, not really, because I just churned this out today while feeling like Death himself (pneumonia sucks and they think my cancer's back but oh well, shit rolls downhill), but when porn is involved I tend to get ideas. I just read this wickedly good fanfiction on this exact sight that's L/Raito, which usually I hate because that sonofabitch killed my man and oh _hell_ no (wow, that sounded gay, even for me, the biggest flamer in history except not really).

So, er, the morale of that story is that you should probably recommend me porn to get the creative juices pumping? And I feel like there's a joke in there somewhere. Next subject before I say something gross.

Anywho, sorry about the wait and the fact that this chapter is unbeta'd. And I'm pretty Death Note focussed right now, so who knows, maybe I'll finish this one up before I start my other idea that I have in this fandom. Because I never leave something unfinished. Even _Dance and Game_ will be finished. Eventually. But I will do it because I never abandon shit. Get it, got it, good.

And I've got my other account to finish up stories on too. _Damn_.

Ja ne!  
>UK.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<br>_Idiots With Tunnel Vision_

_17 June 2002_

"You lot are idiots," Hermione said.

Harry choked on his tea, the liquid burning his oesophagus as he tried to breathe. Malfoy, in all his irritating glory, demurely sat down his own teacup and frowned at the admonishment from the bushy-haired woman, clearly in better hold of his responses.

"Whatever do you mean, Granger?" asked the git in a drawl, but he wouldn't have asked had the answer not been important to him. Which meant that Malfoy had been taken by surprise, since Hermione wouldn't have called them together for simply shooting shit without anything to back it up completely.

"You have no idea what you've gotten into, d'you?" asked Hermione, unamused, as she scratched her cheek and searched for something in the paper-filled mess she called an office. Hermione was good at her job in law, even if her speciality was more along the lines of Parliament instead of being a lawyer like Malfoy, but she was the most disorganised person in the Ministry when it came to office space. At least the ordered chaos was fit to her, since she found what she had been looking for in another moment, nodding at the find without looking up.

"Nate River?" mentioned Hermione, scoffing. "Yes, so he's Harry's cousin by blood. Yes, that is a big deal. Yes, he needs to be briefed about Hogwarts and his abilities. And yes, Harry should have rights to him. But did you even think to do a check on this orphanage through Wizarding means? Why in the world didn't you come to verify with me, Draco?"

Malfoy, grimacing delicately at Hermione using his given name, said matter-of-factly and without amusement, "There was nothing that you could've given me to work with since you don't deal with the mundane Muggle rubbish."

Hermione gave the blond a scathing look that could've killed Voldemort in his tracks a few years back. "Right," she hissed condescendingly, "and the fact that your happy little orphanage you just barrelled into is a credited Wizarding establishment is completely beside the point. _Idiot_."

Harry could feel the blood leave his face, since he hadn't expected such a bombshell to be exploded in his face so soon after the other ones had assaulted him. In the other chair in front of Hermione's paper-covered desk, Malfoy had stopped frowning and instead had gained a contemplative expression on his face. Malfoy was obviously concocting something in that stupid head of his.

"How in the hell did a Muggle orphanage gain support to host and freely converse about the Wizarding world? I checked the stats, Granger, and that orphanage is a Muggle establishment. There is no doubt about that." Malfoy's tone was more curious than anything, a bit of fresh air from the normal drawl, but Harry didn't trust it one bit. Then again, Harry didn't trust _anything_ Malfoy said, even though he was the best of the best, so perhaps he was warranted.

Hermione sighed and finally sat down, glancing at them with chocolate brown eyes from behind her reading glasses. "If you would've come to the _law_ office before charging into Wammy's like imbeciles, you would've known this already. It's classified anyway, even though I'm allowed to disclose it to the both of you with permission from Kingsley." Great thing, having the Minister of Magic as a good friend, even though Malfoy's involvement was pushing it. Harry fought the urge to smirk at the thought, and instead focussed on Hermione's irritated form in from of him.

As if reading from a report — and mentally she probably was — she continued evenly, "The Wammy's House made a formal request to the Wizengamont years ago because of Albus Dumbledore investing in an orphan there. Apparently he had spoken to the orphan in question, who had been scheduled to go to Hogwarts come September, and had offered him a home there for his impending magical studies. According to record, the boy said he would think about it and then effectively told everyone in said orphanage immediately afterwards."

"Why wasn't the child reprimanded and the Aurors sent for memory modification?" shot back Malfoy, leaning forward in his chair as if truly interested.

"Well, the child _was_ reprimanded but the damage had already been done," admitted Hermione, shifting in her chair and making a steeple out of her fingers so her chin had a resting place. "The thing was, this orphanage wasn't exactly an orphanage at all."

"So we gathered," Harry muttered, thinking of the armed guards, the clearly advanced classes, and the secrecy around the place. "What exactly occurred?" asked Harry, not particularly liking where the story was going in the slightest, throughoutly ignoring the expression of evil plans on Malfoy's face. Asking about nefarious actions to win custody in front of Hermione was an incredibly stupid idea, even Harry knew that, and he didn't want any complications. He loved Hermione dearly, but she was a stickler for the rules even in their older ages, and she would've interfered.

"The Wammy's House petitioned the Wizengamont to allow their entire population there to learn about our world. Every orphan, including probably your cousin, knows who you are and what you are capable of, regardless of their magical history or lack thereof."

Dead silence, and then Malfoy said with irritation, "That's blasphemy. Why would the court grant such permissions, when it is illegal for good reason for Muggles to know of our existence? Better yet, why didn't they just go in there with Obliviation charms at the ready and squash such a idiotic petition down?"

Hermione's gaze glazed over and she said with a slightly dreamy smile, "Because of L."

Malfoy visibly recoiled whereas Harry just sat there, completely confused. He verbalised this rather openly too: "What the fuck does that mean?"

Hermione glared at him, replacing that dreamy-eyed stare into space with annoyance, and while he _was_ flinching from the intensity of said glare, it was better than that glazed-over shit. Familiar even. Ire he could handle from his best friend, but near veneration at something he didn't understand he could not.

Malfoy suddenly asked, "So L has something to do with Wammy's then?" So L was a person then, maybe like a code or something? No one in their right fucking mind named their kid L. _Honestly_.

Hermione hesitated and then stated, "Draco, he _founded_ it. Wammy's was instated as an orphanage filled with genius children. According to the reports of the petition, most of the orphans become doctors, scientists, artists, or other such Muggle professions, and then there's another purpose. It's vague in the notes, but the most gifted of them all are in a competitions, from what I've been able to understand. They are all trying to be the next L, an heir of sorts. And considering who L is and what he accomplishes, intense knowledge in the Wizarding world is a must. It's why they were granted permission by the government instead of being subjugated to memory modification, because of L."

Definitely a person then but Harry was still at a loss. "Who is L? What does he do?"

Hermione glared again and Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Of course _you_ wouldn't know, Potter. Only you could be completely and utterly oblivious about such a force of power such as L even after being employed in the Auror Division of the Ministry. Only you would be capable of such stupidity."

"Who is L?" Harry repeated, getting pissed and not bothered to hide it. So what if he didn't know — Muggles were usually ignored by the general Auror Division, since they were usually bystanders to stupid shit that Death Eaters concocted in their tiny little brains, and only the Obliviators in the Auror Division dealt with them. Harry's job had been to get in, blow shit up, and then apprehend the offender. The end, zip, nada, _peace out bitches._ He hadn't dealt with Muggles because that hadn't been part of his particular job description.

"He's only the most powerful Muggle on the face of the planet, moron," drawled Malfoy, rolling his eyes. "People even compare him to _you_, Scar-Head, so you should know these things."

That made Harry pause for a moment. Comparing L to Harry?What in the fuck did that even _mean_? What, did this weirdo have some ultra-secret alter ego as well? Did he annihilate a notorious mass-murdering criminal after a lifetime of torture too? Did he save the world from certain catastrophe and become a media sensation like Harry had? Or was it something stupid like having similar physical features or really awesome wives? People needed to get over the whole comparison thing, even though Nate was going to be royally fucked when he came to the Wizarding world.

Yeah. Comparisons. That kid was unfortunately going to be constantly compared to Harry, even though clearly the kid was twice as intelligent since he _was_ at an orphanage specialising in raising genius children, if Hermione's assessment had any merit.

"Right. That doesn't answer my question," Harry murmured, frowning.

"I hope that kid didn't get your brains," snickered Malfoy with a snort, and Harry forced himself not to strangle his lawyer. Because that wouldn't go down very well in the middle of an official case for custody of his cousin. Murder or even attempted murder sort of put a damper on things in the real world.

"Look, Harry, do some research or something about him. Use a computer, because it'll be faster and more effective. This prat and I are going to actually sit down and discuss what we're going to do in regards to this custody case, because I'd bet my newborn that L isn't going to give him up without a fight if there is an adoption to consider," said Hermione patiently, shooting an unamused glance at the snickering Malfoy.

"Why can't we just go in there and Obliviate them all?" Harry whined.

Hermione looked at him, and her expression was unreadable. "Because it's illegal, even for you," she answered quietly. "And then there is the simple fact that you might be destroying many lives, including your cousin's."

"What d'you mean?" asked Harry, something thick curling in his chest.

Hermione's face looked pained as she answered, "He might not even want to leave."

Harry didn't respond for a long moment, and then he said to Malfoy, "Can you give me and Hermione a minute, arsehole?"

Malfoy let out a relieved sigh. "Thank Merlin, I thought you'd never ask." He practically glided out of the room, shutting it silently behind him and disappearing. Hermione waved her wand and the door locked itself yet again, another measure to ward off eavesdroppers besides the blackened windows and charms that made the room impenetrable to eyes, ears, and magic.

When he heard the door lock, he said, "Family is important. He's an orphan, Hermione, just like me, and everyone needs family even if they don't realise they're missing it."

"You don't know anything about his situation though, Harry," she answered back gently. "He's been in orphanages all of his life, because he must've been very young when his parents died, and now he's at Wammy's, which is famous for churning out four of the most famous witches and wizards in the world right now."

Harry frowned. "Who?" he asked, curious and yet dreading the answer.

"Do you know who Xedan Marconis is? What about Estellan Lamont? Mark Davidson? Lucy Davenport? Any of those names ring a bell?" At Harry's predictable blank look, she sighed with exasperation and clarified, "Mark Davidson is one of the greatest Healers in our generation. He's come up with spells and charms that cure some ailments that were fatal, and he's even developed cures for twelve types of cancer in Muggles."

Harry gaped but Hermione didn't give him a chance to recover.

"Lucy Davenport is destroying all competition in the artist industry. In the Muggle world she's phenomenon in the musical sense, and she's pretty much annihilated even the Weird Sisters on the magical charts too. Her music is breathtaking without enhancements, but with magic involved? People are starting to call her a siren from Greek legend." She took a short breath and said, "And Estellan Lamont is in my own building, my boss actually. He's revolutionising the Wizarding world with the laws he's pushing through, on equality for all beings regardless of birth or magical heritage. He's pushing for reserves of land and lakes to be cut off from all people except for centaurs, mermaids, dragons, everything. He's changing the world and he's damned good at it, someone I admire so much for his equality call in the Ministry. If I had a tenth of his talent, I'd be an unstoppable force of nature."

Harry refrained from mentioning that she already _was_ an unstoppable force of nature, partly because he didn't want her to jinx him but mostly because he was so utterly blown away by the idea that _those_ people had been orphans at the Wammy's House. He felt as if he couldn't even speak, but he managed to choke out, "And Xedan Marconis?"

Hermione's eyes lit up even brighter and she said with high-pitched excitement, "Marconis has invented multitudes of potions that focus on healing particular illnesses that were previously fatal, and he's been researching on the genetic mutations that result in werewolves. He might _cure_ it, Harry."

"Oh my God," whispered Harry, the idea hitting him dead in the chest. He couldn't even imagine what such a prospect would have on the werewolf community. Sure, there were the spare few far and in-between that would defy it, but almost every werewolf would've given up everything but their lives on a cure. They would be normal again, able to have families without the fearful possibility of mutated children or murdering their spouses, able to hold down jobs, able to stop the unimaginable pain that came with the transformation, able to have dinner with friends and family without the judgement or the abhorrent behaviour, and even able to sleep peacefully at night knowing that they were never going to potentially kill another human being when transformed and mindless.

So many lives saved from mental, physical, and emotional torture, from death itself.

Remus Lupin would have wept in joy at such a cure.

Hermione said softly, "I know. When the news came out that he was starting testing on volunteers, I swear to Merlin I cried like a child. Can you imagine what that would do to the werewolf population out there? Can you _imagine_, Harry, what that would do for the world, Wizarding or Muggle? A _cure_, Harry. Just imagine."

Harry simply sat in his chair, trying to absorb such an idea. The implications if it succeeded was insane to even contemplate, and if it did work then perhaps there was a chance for others. Vampires, specifically, who were just as desperate for a cure as the werewolves.

_God_.

"A classified portion of our office keeps tabs on that orphanage. I'm not given all of the notes on it, because only a select few are allowed due to security issues for L, but I know that those who live at that orphanage go out and do remarkable things for Muggles and wizards alike. L himself is a universal good, since he saves so many lives doing what he does." Harry opened his mouth to inquire about _what_ L did exactly, yet again, but Hermione continued, "So just imagine what Near is living like at that place, where brilliant and pure minds are being formed."

His voice was pinched, like it was painful to speak, as he interrupted, "But he's family. I can't just abandon him there with strangers, even _if_ they are giving Nate a good home and education. He's _family_, Hermione, and I want to be a major part of his life."

"You can _be_ a major part in his life without forcing him to leave the only life he's probably ever known. And _you're_ the stranger to him, Harry, not those people that are teaching him what he needs to know to be successful in this world and the Muggle one."

"Are you trying to talk me out of fighting for my rights?!" Harry bellowed, standing up. He wasn't sure why he was yelling, because he wasn't even angry. He felt so confused and torn about everything, because families _needed_ each other to survive and not having that with the only blood relative that was magical like him was agony. But Hermione's words kept echoing in his mind and he _hated_ that, hated the idea that he would feel even the slightest bit guilty about fighting for custody of his cousin.

Sure, that orphanage was a great thing for orphans, and made them into needed and much-appreciated members of society. But Nate _had_ a family in Harry and Ginny, had a family in James and Teddy, and to not jump on that seemed evil. Nate wasn't alone like the others were, and Harry wasn't like the Dursleys. He would take care of that child like a king would take care of his child, and he would never need or want again. He would have everything, and they could be a _family_.

"I'm saying that you should go to that orphanage and _talk_ to Nate, see what he wants, give him the options!" Hermione yelled right back. "You should have rights to be a part of his life, but you have _no_ right to strip a child of his home if he does not want to leave! He's young but he doesn't need a dictator to run his life for him; he's been submersed in an environment that challenges his intelligence daily, and that's the best thing for him! You can still be a damn family even without living in the same household, like you and the Dursleys!"

"_I'm nothing like the Dursleys!_" Harry roared, and _that_ made him furious.

"I know you're not, but it's the same concept!" Hermione practically shrieked. By that point they were in each other's red faces, baring teeth and trying to scream logic into the other's brain, even though their logic was completely different. "It won't kill you to get your head out of your arse and simply ask Nate what _he_ wants to do, be it to push for his adoption by you or staying at Wammy's to get his magical education there! Listen to reason!"

And on and on it went. They bellowed at each other, at one point curses flying even though they would never actually hurt the other, and after an hour of wearing themselves out, they both collapsed on the floor next to a few metre-high stacks of paperwork. They leant upon each other, breathing heavily and staring at their various new additions, like Harry's lime green arm hair and Hermione's purple skin.

She was right, though, and Harry knew it. He was infamous for being a hot-head, and he had approached the situation with Nate with just that. He hadn't even though about what would happen afterwards, completely focussed on bringing Nate into his home where he supposedly belonged without any reasonable doubt.

Harry hadn't looked past that, at all of the things that could've been wrong about that. Maybe Nate didn't want to leave his friends, his adoptive family. Maybe Nate was getting a better education than he would at Hogwarts, especially if those other wizards had anything to show about the magical education at Wammy's. Maybe Nate, being eleven and young, wouldn't assimilate very well with a new home like Harry's, especially since the orphanage was a silent, all-but invisible safe-house due to the mysterious L and Harry lived in a place constantly surrounded by paparazzi with a newborn baby boy, a fiery wife, a Metamorphagus kid that practically lived with them with the amount of time he was over, and ten thousand Weasleys that invaded as if they owned the place.

Harry _didn't_ know what Nate wanted, because he had just assumed that he would immediately want family. Hell, maybe he did, but Harry didn't know for sure, and he had to know before making decisions that could potentially scar Nate for the rest of his life. And that was something that Harry most certainly did not want for his long-lost cousin. Not at all.

Harry didn't say anything to Hermione, because they didn't need words. Hermione knew that Harry, regardless of the wishes of the Wammy's House and even Nate himself, _would_ have some sort of relationship with his cousin, even if it was small. Even if the orphanage fought with him tooth-and-nail and Nate turned out to be a demon child, Harry _would_ have a relationship with Nate.

His sense of family was too strong to deny himself that.

But he wouldn't destroy the kid's life either. He would do anything to avoid that.

Besides, maybe Nate would want to live with Harry despite all of the conflicting thoughts that Harry had churning in his head. Maybe he would end up getting custody anyway, and everything would be just like in Harry's imagination, with family dinners and celebrating obnoxiously when Nate graduated Hogwarts and Merlin knew what else.

Regardless, he had to figure out what Nate wanted. Harry stood up and went to find Malfoy without saying a word to Hermione — she knew Harry, and she knew in her heart that he was grateful for her — because he needed to mend some bridges before he fucked up any more than he already had. And if that meant kissing the mysterious, awed L's arse, then so be it.

He would do anything for his family, and that was a goddamn fact.


End file.
